


I have something of yours

by D_Maradine



Category: Persona 5, Persona 5 Royal
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bullying, Gloves, M/M, Panic Attack, Post-Canon, Unexpected Savior, but don't be scared it's gonna be okay :3, mentions of past physical trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Maradine/pseuds/D_Maradine
Summary: Since Akira got back home and started his third year at school, some of the students his age weren't pleased about the "criminal's" return. On the way back home a few of them corner him in an alley to "show him his place".Akira is about to fight back when an unexpected savior appears!
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 9
Kudos: 231
Collections: 21 plus server halloween event





	I have something of yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lady_peony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_peony/gifts).



> This work is a part of Halloween exchange on akeshuake21+ discord!  
> The prompt I've chosen (from @lady_peony 's ones!) was a trick one with protective Goro. I hope you enjoy the trick.... ;)

Pain is what he remembers best.

The bruises that seemed to hurt even at the softest touch of his clothes, the stinging the fabric left against more open wounds.

What he remembers well, but with a hazy tinge, is fear.

The needles piercing his skin, injecting whatever drugs in a magical world might be called a ‘truth serum’.

...But this world is not magical, and even if it once was, with the disappearance of the Metaverse it is no longer.

The last time he saw _him_ was in the Monacopter, all of the Phantom Thieves cramped together in the space too small to breathe.

Their eyes met for a second and he saw him open his mouth, as if to say something.

That’s when the world ended, like a cliffhanger episode in a drama series, because why would the universe allow Akira to ever have something for himself for once in his life.

The scene is stuck in his head like this, similar to waking up from a nightmare suddenly, but it’s waking up that feels like a nightmare instead.

Akira shakes his head to encourage the thought to leave it. It doesn’t. He sighs.

“Mo—” he starts in the direction of his school bag, but trails off. That’s right. He stopped taking Morgana with him to school since they came back to his hometown.

He breathes out into the silence and turns his head around. He just left the school gate and turned into a side alley: his way home. It’s pretty late already, but he was on cleaning duty this time. He should be on his way if he wants to talk to Mona. And get dinner. Call with other former Thieves. They made plans for a Halloween-themed video call for today.

The end of October is strange. He tries to remember what it looked like a year before, back when he didn’t have to study for the college entrance exams, take mock exams then study more, an endless loop of textbooks, numbers and kanji.

The thought takes him back to the slightly run-down café in the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya, the smell of curry and coffee, and the familiar figure sitting by the booth. Occupied with his own things, sipping the aromatic coffee from the white cup, but turning around at the jingle by the door. Greeting Akira with a rare smile. Not the perfect plastic one, not the smirk or sneer he got so familiar with later, but a genuine, relaxed, a bit playful one.

“Welcome home.” 

He can hear the cheer in it but also understanding. Maybe a confession of sorts. Was it a place where he also felt most at home?

Akira feels his eyes watering a bit but doesn’t even have time to blink when the force of a sudden impact from behind makes him stumble.

He tries not to wince at the sound of malicious laughter. He steadies himself and looks back. There are one, two, three of them. Of course it has to be today.

Akira turns around and continues down the road but a second later one of them grabs his arm.

“Not so fast, _criminal_.” He gets pushed back roughly and the bag slips down his arm. It drops to the ground with a heavy sound only a pile of books can make.

Akira grits his teeth. He praises his past self for deciding against taking Mona with him. It’s not the first time this sort of thing has happened. But he managed to avoid getting physical with these guys for over half a year and he isn’t really eager to change that.

It’s not like he can’t. It’s not like his spirit of rebellion died together with Akechi.

He’s thought about it before - what should he do if things come down to this.

On one hand, he doesn’t want to fight back. It’s no Metaverse; these guys are no Shadows. He doesn’t really want to hurt them, even if they are being assholes. Another part of that reason is – he is still being observed. Once recognized by the police as the Phantom Thieves' leader, his record would always weigh down on him.

Sometimes he notices he’s being followed. Sometimes he just feels eyes on his back. He hopes it’s the _real_ police and not Shido’s lackeys somehow finding out his identity and planning revenge.

And there are also these guys. The self-proclaimed protectors of justice, boys his age, who honestly don’t know shit about him but still decide _not to leave him alone_ over and over again. 

He wonders how they would react to finding out about him being the Phantom Thief. He saw the worn pins with the Thieves’ logo on their school bags before.

But they don’t know. And they never will.

Akira’s arm crashes against the brick wall surrounding the school when the guy holding his arm throws him into it.

The nearby lamp flickers and casts a circle of light a few steps to the side on the pavement, like a spotlight on a scene waiting for an actor to appear.

He slides down the wall to the ground. He could stay standing but putting up an active resistance is a lot more likely to prolong the whole situation. Akira doesn’t really know how to play the victim but he counts on the guys’ guilty consciences as he curls up to hug his knees. Hopes they freak out and just leave him alone.

They don’t. Seems like their sense of justice is exquisite.

“Not so brave now when no one is looking, huh, criminal?”

He doesn’t think too much about it. He won’t figure out the logic behind it anyways, since there is none there in the first place.

Other guys seem to enjoy their ‘leader’s’ words, however, as they laugh lowly, dangerously.

“You thought you would get away with it if you act all quiet and oblivious?”

And how is he supposed to act? Like the real thug that he isn’t? He shuts his eyes so he doesn’t roll them.

Someone’s shoe kicks him in the calf. Akira ignores the urge to catch the foot, to pull on it so the aggressor loses balance and falls on his butt. He contents himself with imagining it.

“We don’t want criminal trash like you around in our school.” The voice gets closer, looming over him, and he opens his eyes trying not to _glare_ . The student’s face scrunches up in anger. It’s a hint that he failed. “What’s with those eyes?! Are you mocking me?!” the guy shouts and finally some boundary, impassable until now, breaks. He punches Akira in the face, not too hard but enough to make his fake glasses fly to the side and onto the ground with an ugly _crack_.

Akira takes a sharp breath as the guy raises up his foot and kicks him in the ribs. The other two behind him close in.

Suddenly, another image overlaps his view. The faces of older, grown men. Black suits, white shirts, neat ties instead of plain school uniforms. Empty hands now holding syringes, pointed needles shining with some foreign substance at the tips.

He blinks and the image goes away but the sick feeling inside his stomach doesn’t. He coughs once, twice, inhales deeply, trying to not vomit. Suddenly he’s glad he’s already on the ground. With how weak his knees feel, he’d most likely collapse anyway.

He tries to ease his breathing but it feels like he’s dying. What would Akechi say to him?

_Don’t you dare, Joker! If you die on me now, I will kill you again myself!_

Another kick and another cough from him, but this one may have a trace of laugh in it. Oh gods, he misses him _so much_.

He covers his head, a rebellious flame awakening in his chest, fighting against the unwanted panic overwhelming his physical plane. He can’t let this continue. Even if his good intentions were enough to deal with it before, the situation changed.

And he can’t stand the thought of becoming what in Akechi’s eyes would be utterly pathetic.If Akira can fight for others, he sure can do so for himself, too.

He readies himself to gather himself up and _fight_ , when—

“H-hey.” The voice is a mix of worry and warning. One of the students catches the leader’s arm suddenly, tugs at it, points at something.

All four of them, Akira included, follow where it points to with their gazes.

A lonely figure stands at the exact center of the light cast by the lamppost.

The stance of lazy confidence surrounds them, like they are reading a bulletin board not watching three bullies beat up their victim under the brick wall surrounding a school. They are wearing a black hoodie, pulled up so it covers their eyes, a face mask hiding the rest of their features.

There is a vague impression of familiarity; it’s tugging at Akira’s heart as he watches the tall, slim figure, its straight back and lean but strong shoulders.

It can’t be.

“I-it’s _him_ ,” one of the lackeys gulps and whispers. Another straightens himself so hastily he almost trips over his own feet. Even the leader seems to slump slightly.

Akira, apparently, has just been saved by the sudden appearance of some well-known local thug. He doesn’t know what to think about it.

He tries to get up, but that’s when the leader decides his group still has an advantage of numbers and pushes him back to the ground when he’s only halfway up on his feet.

“Stay on the ground where you belong, trash,” he hisses angrily.

The other two’s hitched breaths are the only warning the student gets before he’s pulled back from Akira with no small force. He lands on the pavement with a heavy, pained grunt.

Akira looks at the scene with his eyes wide, the surprising chain of events almost making him forget the panic attack. The stranger places himself in front of him without a word, without a sound, like a lonely black shield made of flesh.

Akira tries to look _past_ his— definitely _his_ nice-looking ass, but it’s hard when it’s right before him. Another good thing about being protected, aside from the protection itself.

He considers punching himself to get rid of these thoughts. It’s definitely not time for this.

But he isn’t the type to watch from the side idly when others are involved. He tries to get up again. His protector stops him with a gesture of his bare palm. There is a black glove on his left one.

“Akechi,” Akira breathes out in disbelief.

It’s _impossible_.

The guy stiffens slightly but they get no more time for this.

“Stop interfering with our justice!” one of the students cries out with a wavering voice. It seems that it's not their first encounter?

“Just who the fuck are you?!” fumes another one.

“You don’t know _shit_ about justice.” The mocking voice, even if muffled by the mask, undoubtedly belongs to Akechi.

“Says the trash that shields the criminal!” The leader curls his hands into fists and swings at Akechi. “Who is he to you, even?!”

The detective… former detective? Catches his wrist with ease and twists, getting a pained whimper out of the boy’s throat. He pulls the student closer.

“ _He_ is justice,” Akira hears in the sudden silence falling upon the night. “ _I_ am justice.”

The leader’s scream tears through the dark as Akechi puts another hand on the guy’s arm and presses hard, almost to the point of breaking it.

“Akechi!” Akira calls out and scrambles to his feet, catches his arm. “Let go,” he says quietly. “He’s not worth it.”

Akechi scoffs and releases the guy, whose face is now covered with tears of hurt and anger. The student looks behind at his lackeys but they are backing off unsurely. Their fighting spirit is broken. 

“It’s not the end,” he warns, trying to make himself look… less uncool, Akira guesses. It doesn’t exactly work, as the three of them break into a run and disappear behind the corner onto the main street.

Akira watches them go, afraid to turn back to Akechi. Afraid he won’t be there when he looks. 

And he isn’t. Akira only sees his back, the black silhouette walking away, soon to disappear in the night.

He isn’t having any of this.

He takes one step and something cracks under his foot. A quick look confirms - his glasses. He winces but leaves them be, breaks into a sprint, forgetting all about his school bag too. 

The most important thing, after all, he carries with him all the time.

“Akechi!” he calls out but the other just quickens his pace. Not enough to slip away, though. Soon he catches up and grabs his wrist. They both stop.

There is no struggle, no tearing off his hand away from his grasp and for a moment Akira fears it’s not Akechi, after all. Akechi wouldn’t want to touch him, right? It was always only _Akira_ and his one-sided longing. 

But the eyes that look back at him, slightly narrowed in irritation, hidden under the shadow of the hood and the sharp line of his brow, are unmistakable. 

It’s him. 

It really is.

“Akira,” he says, voice flat, and his frown deepens. He looks disappointed, but Akira can’t judge why. The answer comes sooner than he expected. “Let go. Forget you saw me here.”

Akira isn’t having any of _this_ , either. 

His grip on Akechi’s wrist tightens. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, half angrily, half desperately. He isn’t one to curse often, but this kind of wording seems to suit Akechi’s bullshit pretty well at the moment. 

He disappears, presumably dies. He doesn’t contact him for over half a year. Then he just… just what, comes to his rescue like a fucking Featherman warrior, extra as shit with his face mask and hoodie, standing in the lamppost’s light, pretentious as ever?

Akira’s brain short circuits. 

It comes to one conclusion.

If Akechi went through the trouble of saving him, he won’t ruin it by killing him now, will he?

Akira pulls him closer and traps him in a tight embrace, ignoring the startled yelp. He squeezes him hard against his chest, digs fingers into his soft black hoodie, into his back and arms. Breathes in the familiar smell, vaguely realizing he never noticed it consciously before, just how people don’t normally notice obvious things about the world until they are suddenly gone. 

Akechi stiffens for a few long seconds then relaxes slightly, hesitatingly, like he never expected this to happen.

Well, Akira, gods be his witness, didn’t expect it either.

Akechi doesn’t hug back, not exactly, but places one hand on Akira’s back and pats it awkwardly, slowly, like he never did it before and isn’t sure if it’s the right thing to do. 

If he’s waiting for Akira to correct him or tell him to stop, he won’t live to hear it.

They stay like this for a long minute until Akechi’s discomfort starts kicking in. He doesn’t say anything but Akira can feel the tension and lets him go. 

Akechi’s gaze doesn’t stray from his face and he finds the courage to look back.

In his mind, many ideas juggle around the question of what he should do now. 

Punching Akechi in the face is one idea, pretty hard to get rid of. Others seem too embarrassing or too plain, not suited for the meeting after all this time. 

He never thought about how he should act if he saw Akechi again. Well, why would he, if he assumed the guy dead? 

The silence stretches as he can’t find it in himself to decide what to do next. 

Akechi sighs. “Why are you…” he starts, but trails off. “Why…” he tries again.

Akira stares. Maybe someone _did_ replace the Akechi he knew with this one. An Akechi who doesn’t know what to say? Does that exist?

“No, why are _you_ …” Akira attempts, but apparently he isn’t the most fit to teach others about eloquence. 

They both sigh.

Akechi tilts his head back and looks up at the darkness above them. A small puff of steam leaves his mouth and escapes into the sky freely, not weighed down by the need to convey something to another person.

“It’s been a while,” Akechi says when he looks back at him.

“It has,” Akira confirms, past the need to say “no shit” as the anger from within him dissipates. “What those guys were saying. Can I assume you’ve been around for a while?”

Akechi frowns. It’s his equivalent of ‘oh no, you’ve found out’. At least that’s what Akira thinks it is now.

“Are you disappointed?” Akira continues with a wry smile. “Do you think I’m pathetic?”

Akechi’s face falls back to its most neutral state. He takes the face mask off and folds his arms on his chest, scrutinizing Akira. “You were always a bit pathetic,” he says, “but no. In this matter, I can guess the poor bits of logic behind your reasoning.”

“It wasn’t only today, was it?” Akira dares to ask before he changes his mind. It’s a rough suspicion. “You’ve been saving me from trouble for some time now.” He is now sure of it, judging the truth from Akechi’s irritated expression.

“Mostly,” Akechi says, quietly, as if he’s admitting to an embarrassing secret, “I’ve been saving you from myself.”

Akira feels as if a firework exploded in his mind. He didn’t expect Akechi to _blush_ , but there is a tinge of deeper color dusting his cheekbones. 

Maybe from the cold. 

It’s cold tonight. 

One of Akechi’s hands is bare. 

Akira reaches to his pocket, slowly, and pulls out a glove. The missing half of the pair absent from Akechi’s hand.

He takes the other’s hand, slowly and delicately, in case he wants to pull it away. He doesn’t and it’s something Akira will be forever grateful for. He knows his act is embarrassing as it is even now, but it would probably kill him if Akechi rejected him. He can’t fathom why he isn’t doing it. But maybe he doesn’t need to know now. 

Akira pulls the glove onto Akechi’s hand, maybe a bit awkwardly, but he can’t focus on that aspect as his own heart beating too strongly in his chest doesn’t allow him to. 

He brushes the tips of his fingers against the back of Akechi’s knuckles. 

He really wants to kiss them. 

He lets go before he does something that will make Akechi kill him again.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to do with it after the duel is over,” Akechi says, a little breathless. “And it isn’t, even.”

“I make my own rules,” Akira says quietly with a playful smirk. 

A comfortable silence falls and a shadow of a smile tugs at the corner of Akechi’s lips as he bows his head slightly, maybe to hide the evidence of it ever making it to his face.

“We can still have it. The duel.” Akira suggests. 

He _needs_ to see him again.

He wonders what else does _duel_ have in common with _date_ besides the two letters in it.

Maybe nothing. 

Maybe everything.

There is that tinge of color to Akechi’s cheekbones again and Akira wonders if their minds are on the same track suddenly. “We can.” His voice is sharp and clear as ever when he speaks, with a bit of a dangerous note to it. “As many as it takes to settle this.”

Akira nods his head automatically.

He isn’t sure if he should treat it as a threat or a promise.

A trick or treat, maybe, since it’s Halloween.

But if it’s him… he’s okay with anything.


End file.
